Surprised at the Cross

I had quite an unexpected reaction yesterday at the Good Friday service. Most of my attention was focused on getting the music right (with some anxiety, due to my prep time for this service having been usurped by my having taken on - last minute - the Holy Thursday Mass; also discovering that the other singers had not received my e-mail with the music), and paying close attention to the order and choreography of the service, since I had not attended a Good Friday service in twelve years. The music ministers went up first to venerate the cross, and what surprised me were the tears that began welling up, from the deepest part of me (what? it's a wooden thing, it's a ritual, it's a symbol, I'm surrounded by hundreds of people: I absolutely never cry in public!). I watched the ones who went before me (carefully, because I couldn't remember the exact ritual) bend in and kiss the cross as the Deacon tenderly cleaned it after each kiss with a cloth. I was last in the line of musicians, and what I really wanted to do was not simply kiss the cross, but to throw myself at its feet in a heap, wrap my arms around it, and bawl like a baby. I didn't, of course. Not actually. But that's where I am today, truly - in a heap, at the foot of the cross, holding on for dear life, overflowing with tears of sorrow and gratitude.

March 25 - Lent, Day 41 - Jesus, Our Passover Lamb

Film scan from 2001. Flat Point Farm, West Tisbury, Massachusetts.

I participated in many Passover seders over the past twelve years, and at each one, when the leader elevated and broke the middle matzah (unleavened bread) and declared, "This is the bread of our affliction," I was always immediately transported back to the Sacrifice of the Mass where the priest elevates the Bread of Life (also unleavened) and declares, before breaking it, "Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world."

As I write today, the eve of Passover, I do think of my Jewish friends who will be entering one of their holiest weeks this evening at sundown. From either direction, I've always loved the fact that Easter and Passover are so closely tied together - seasonally, as well as ritually - creating kind of a double-holy week.

The question for today: How can I deepen my understanding and experience of the Eucharist?

One thing that helped me deepen my understanding of the Eucharist was reading Brant Pitre's Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist (foreward by Scott Hahn), in which he ties many of the ancient temple practices and Jewish scripture to the Last Supper and makes an excellent case for the Eucharist being exactly what Jesus says it is in John 6: his real flesh and his real blood.

However, one cannot understand the Eucharist from one book or from one Holy Communion; rather, it must be experienced over time and incorporated into the context of one's life on a regular basis, I believe.

When I partook of my first Eucharist in twelve years, back in June, I went, quite honestly, not knowing what I believed any more. I knew that I once quite fervently believed it was the Real Presence of our risen Lord, but after so many years of being away from the church and not praying to Jesus, I had no idea what to believe, and I didn't particularly care. All I knew was that I needed to be home.

Interestingly, the effect of that first communion was immediate and profound. There was no doubt that what I experienced was real. I have missed few Masses since that day, and I know that my life, my soul, my faith has profoundly changed for the better, all within the context of prayer, daily Mass, hearing God's word, partaking of the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

Dear Lord, I pray to continue to grow in my understanding of your Real Presence in my life.

Reunion

Cousin Power: Sara, Annette, and Donna. Donna and I had the same reaction when we saw each other: "Hey, you look like me." Annette and I don't look all that much alike, but our personalities are similar (think: strong, Sicilian, take-charge).



I have to laugh. In fact, I'm cracking up.

My dear mother - God bless her beautiful soul (and I hope she's laughing, too) - made two decisions in my early years that would profoundly influence my life. One, before I was even born, she removed me from my father and his family; two, she basically told me to "make up my own mind," as pertains to religion.

Last weekend I drove to Yonkers, New York and met up with a few of my long-lost Piazza cousins. It was a wonderful weekend, and I am still shaking my head in amazement that I have both: one, been reunited with my father's family (that turns out to be the size of a small city - bursting with a multitude of cousins, all with arms wide-open); and two, found my way to being a proudly devout Roman Catholic. Congratulations are in order, I believe, as I somehow managed to follow the trail of breadcrumbs that had been left for me in the forest, leading me home to God and to my long-missing family. It took sixty-two years, but I made it.



Church of the Annunciation in Crestwood, New York - Annette's church. I'm home.

March 23 - Lent, Day 39 - A Profound Conversion

It is now day 39 of Lent, and on one level, I have failed to do what I set out to do: to keep a daily Lenten journal. It is not for the lack of desire, certainly, but more due to the fact that there are only certain days of my week that lend themselves to writing. Last week I was in a good writing groove and was very excited to have caught up a bit in Dr. Hahn's daily lenten readings, and to be writing and posting, and then I was away for the weekend, and my duties and responsibilities - partly the daily stuff, partly catching up from having been away - have precluded my being able to focus on this project even though I have had many thoughts and ideas swirling around and fairly begging to be recorded. But I find, if I don't catch the wave of thought as it comes through, it's pretty much gone.

On another level, I have failed at nothing - unless I choose to self-flagellate for not keeping up with a self-imposed regimen, which I could easily do, but even though I haven't kept up with my intention to follow the daily readings and diligently report my thoughts and impressions (seriously, after being in school for eight of the past twelve years - earning a b/a and a certificate of cantorial arts - I think I've proved myself in this regard, thank you), this has been a great Lent. If one may use such a term to describe this, the most serious and penitential period of the liturgical calendar. And by great, I mean that I feel as though I have immersed myself in the season and have availed myself of all tools available - Confession (a great gift - I should go more often), attending Mass, almost daily (but I do that anyway); reading, writing (and yes, Dr. Hahn's writings and questions have caused me to do much thinking; even if I haven't had time to write all of my impressions, my awareness has been greatly increased by his book), abstaining from eating meat on Fridays (even forgetting a couple of times increased my self-awareness), preparing music for the Mass; overall, being more aware than usual of Christ's presence in my life. This is all good. I guess you get out of Lent what you put in, and I believe I have put in plenty. Even being aware of my so-called failures has enhanced these weeks of Lent.

So, now to Dr. Hahn's question for today (as pertains to the suffering and the exile of the Jews and how it brought them closer to God): What areas of suffering can transform me into a living sacrifice?


Someone recently posted a quote from then-Cardinal Bergoglio - now, Pope Francis: "Rend your hearts, so that through that crack we can really look at ourselves. Rend your hearts, open your hearts, because only in a broken and open heart can the merciful love of God enter, who loves and heals us." - Jorge Mario Cardinal Bergoglio, in his Lenten letter to his archdiocese. To which I commented: "I was born with a broken heart, which led me to search for healing, which led me to God. I thank God for my broken heart."

Rabbi Bill Hamilton, one of my first teachers in Brookline, once told me something along the lines of, The problem with Jewish faith today is, now that the we have achieved success, we don't really need God any more.

So, globally, yes - I thank God for my broken heart.

What about today? What are the areas of suffering in my life? Okay, giving up meat on Fridays has been transformational (as was keeping kosher - meatless Friday's first cousin). Being a mother and watching my children suffering is a big area of suffering, some days. Missing my husband comes to mind. On an intellectual level, I understand the role of suffering in the journey to holiness - but on another level, I pray daily to be spared any real suffering, such as the loss of a child or grandchild (God forbid!). Oh, and though it can't be equated to real suffering, having given up beer has been huge. Not such a big problem, but yes - especially in the evening - I'm aware that something is different, that I'm doing something that draws me closer to God (and anyone who says, "Giving up something for Lent won't make me a better person" ought to try it, and then report back).

Okay, got it. I am in excruciating agony over the state of my present family and the brokenness that exists among my three my children. I will offer this up and join it to Christ's suffering, and especially to his mother, Mary's, and trust in the redemptive power of the cross.

Dear Lord, please grant me the strength and courage to enter this final week before Easter - the holiest of our weeks - and partake fully of your Passion and Resurrection. Thank you for doing the heavy lifting here, for giving of yourself in a way that none of us could ever do, willingly, so that we don't have to; thank you for dying so that we might live. Help me to die to the things that keep me from being fully alive and living a holy life. PS - please heal my family.

March 14 - Lent, Day 30 - The New Moses

How hungry am I for Jesus? What steps do I need to take to increase my appetite for the true Bread from heaven?

I once figured out that during the years between 1997-2000, I received Holy Communion approximately 400 times (daily Mass and as many as 3 or 4 weekend Masses in the summer swells the number). During the twelve years I was practicing Judaism ("gone from the church," I want to say, but I now know that I hadn't, in fact, gone anywhere), I often thought (and dreamed, many times - I am sure that Jesus was present in these dreams) about all of the Bread I had consumed during those years, thinking of it as a kind of viaticum - a word that is more often used in the context of administering a Last Communion to the dying - a word that is literally translated as provisions for a journey, or, if you will, "food for the journey." I now realize that my provisions must have begun running out this past spring, the reason I needed to get back to church.



L'Shana Tova! September 22, 2006. Nine Loaves of challah I baked for Rosh Hashana: three plain, three whole wheat, three with golden raisins.

March 13 - Lent, Day 29 - Rules and Rebellion

Artwork in an Edgartown gallery window, June 2012.

"For the Lord will again take delight in prospering you, as he took delight in your fathers, if you obey the voice of the Lord your God, to keep his commandments and his statues which are written in this book of the law, if you turn to the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul." Deuteronomy 30:9-10

How do I view God's rules? With loving obedience or as roadblocks to freedom?

I love God's rules, and would be lost without them, as would the whole world, I believe. Am I always obedient? No. Does God even expect that we will always be obedient? No, but that's why God gave us the sacrament called Reconciliation. I believe that God's rules lead to freedom, which is a bit counter-intuitive, I suppose. Certainly, as children we thought that our parents' rules curtailed our freedom, but then as we grew up, (most of us, anyway) we realized that our parents' rules were for our own good and were given out of their love for us.

We live in a world that isn't much into following rules these days, it seems. Just drive down the highway at the speed limit and watch how many cars whiz past you, on all sides. Watch as people step out, willy-nilly, into traffic, bringing cars to a screeching halt so they can cross any old time in anyplace they desire, without even looking (my generation was taught to cross only at a cross-walk, or if no cross-walk, at a corner, and to look both ways and only cross if no cars were coming). Read any on-line forum to see people's rudeness towards each other and hatred and disrespect of authority. Walk down any street where there are people and listen to the filthy language that pours out of people's mouths. Turn on any of today's prime-time sit-coms and listen to sexual innuendo in almost every sentence. I see a world that has largely rejected authority figures and rules, especially the authority of the Church - where God's rules are taught - as well as organized religion, for the most part (replaced with silliness), which makes me want to hold on even more tightly to God's rules.

Dear God, help me to follow and to love your rules.

March 12 - Lent, Day 28 - The Great Physician

Look for this new profile picture on my facebook page beginning next March 5.

What might have an unhealthy hold on me? Is it food, drink, or too much time on the Internet? What can I "fast" from this Lent? (in reference to God's desire to free us - as he did when the Hebrew children were enslaved in Egypt - from bondage)

My answer to question two is: no, maybe, and yes.

Food has never been an issue. If anything, I'm usually too busy to eat. Having to stop the creative process in order to feed myself - honestly? - I find it to be a big annoyance (well, there is the slight matter of those kettle-cooked potato chips that I could probably eat less of and be a lot healthier).

As for drink - while I did spend my late teens and early 20s immersed somewhat in the typical alcohol and drug culture of my day (60s), it was pretty short lived, as I was married and starting my family by the time I was twenty-three, and very conscientious about eating well and abstaining from alcohol, drugs, and anything that might be harmful to my unborn children. I went many, many years without touching a drop of alcohol. A few years ago, however, I discovered the wonderful world of Irish traditional music, and while playing in Irish pubs all over Boston, I also re-discovered my love of beer. Yes, I totally and unabashedly love beer and enjoy one or two at the end of almost every day. Sometimes I wonder if I'm an alcoholic - I've got the genes for it, Lord knows - and if loving a beer or two at the end of the day makes me an alcoholic - well, call me an alcoholic, and a happy one at that. But I did give up beer for Lent - no problem; really, and as I've already said, "If God doesn't know I love him after I give up beer for six weeks, there'll be no convincing the Guy." It turns out that no beer at the end of the day isn't such a big deal (but I look forward to my first cold and frosty on March 31).

As for the Internet - mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Yes, I am guilty of sitting and staring at my computer screen for hours on end. Instead of making my own photos and writing my own songs, I am looking at the photos and listening to the songs of others; accumulating volumes of worthless and trivial information, participating in conversations that add not a whit of edifying value to my existence. I do believe that the above photo will be the profile picture you see on my facebook page next year, if not sooner.

Not that it makes it okay, but I know I'm not alone in this. Friends have also confessed to being addicted to facebook - and these are rational, mature, adults. I've read (on the Internet, of course) that studies show that the Internet is more addictive than cigarettes. I believe it (I also wonder, often, if my increasingly lessened ability to move from point A to point B during the course of the day may be caused by too much time on the computer, a medium that overstimulates and invites our attention to flit from here to there around the screen rather than in a straight line).

Dear God, help me to break free from the things that keep me from focusing on my own life and pursuing my own talents.

We Have a Pope

A photo I wish I'd taken.


We interrupt the writing of today's (okay, yesterday's) Lent diary to announce that approximately one hour ago, white smoke was seen pouring from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel. I was coming from having my teeth cleaned and had just checked the Pope App on my phone, but saw nothing and heard on the news as I drove home that the window of opportunity had passed and there would most likely need to be another enclave, then minutes later heard the announcement that there was white smoke. I tuned in to the live feed on my Pope App on my phone and kept it on all the way home, listening to the cheers and the bells ringing all through Piazza San Pietro, all while shopping at Stop and Shop and checking my mail at the post office. This is all very moving and I have found myself close to tears for most of the past hour.

We now know that new pope is Jorge Mario Bergoglio, a Franciscan from Argentina who will be known as Pope Francis I.

I have never been happier or prouder to be Roman Catholic. Viva Papa!

(And don't the numbers 3-13-13 have a nice ring to them?)

March 11 - Lent, Day 27 - A Privilege and a Responsibility

Stained glass panel from St. Augustine's, Vineyard Haven, a church of Good Shepherd Parish of Martha's Vineyard.

Do I see Mass as a weekly duty, or as a privilege I want to enjoy as often as possible?

I attend Mass almost every day during the week, and at least once - depending on whether I am leading the songs or not - during the weekend. I consider attending Mass both a duty and a privilege. There are plenty of mornings I don't want to leave my house but I make myself because I know how much attending Mass feeds me - the words and the Eucharist - and serves as armor against the insanity and chaos of the world. After not attending Mass for twelve years, it is a joy and an honor to do so once again.

Dear God, help me to never forget how much I love attending Mass and partaking in your sacraments.

March 10 - Lent, Day 26 - A New Identity

The Ner Tamid (eternal light) above the Aron haKodesh (The Holy Ark, where the Torah scrolls are kept, is the holiest place in a synagogue, analogous to the Tabernacle in a Catholic Church) at Kehillath Israel in Brookline, Massachusetts. The Hebrew is a list of the Ten Commandments, abbreviated.

How do I define myself? Does my life reflect what God says is important? (In relation to God's having commanded the People Israel to obey his commandments and to be a "kingdom of priests and a holy nation." Exodus 19:6)

If I know anything, I know about new identities.

I came from a Christian family - albeit with a mother who had disenfranchised herself from organized religion and chose to allow me to "make up my own mind" - and though I was not baptized until my late 20s, I lived most of my adult life as a devout Christian and attempted to raise my children as such. However, in 2000 - for reasons that I am only now beginning to understand - I left the church, converted to Judaism, and for twelve years I lived and breathed Judaism and identified myself as Jewish. In June of 2012 I returned home to the Catholic Church, to my Christian roots.

In a way, my life is an embodiment of the old and the new, the passage of time between the Hebrew scriptures and the New Testament. I know what it is like to have lived with the absence of Christ; I also know what it is like to have experienced the coming of Christ after a twelve-year Advent. As I transitioned from my Jewish life back to my Christian life, considering what to do with all the mezuzot on my door posts and whether to continue to keep kosher, I lived out some of the issues that the early church faced. Part of the reason I returned to Christianity was, in the end, even as I chanted the Hebrew prayers, kept strictly kosher - at home and outside - and observed a Saturday Sabbath, my identity was too deeply rooted in Christianity to ever really feel Jewish. I think I may have telegraphed this to potential employers - even though my voice was good enough, my Hebrew was certainly good enough - I wasn't that believable as a Jew. Even my son said to me one day, "Mom, you're not Jewish." In the end, I had to face the fact that no, I wasn't Jewish; I was deeply Christian (the toy lamb I slept with every night those ten years I lived in Brookline - an Easter present from my childhood - should have been a clue). I heard a story once about Abraham Joshua Heschel. He was speaking at a seminary, and during the question and answer period a young seminarian asked him,"Rabbi, you know everything there is to know about the Hebrew and the Christian scriptures. You know more about Jesus than some of us here do. Why aren't you a Christian?" To which Heschel replied, "Because I'm a Jew. I was born a Jew and I will die a Jew." So it is with me; I'm a Christian and that's all there is to it.

So, what exactly is my identity? Does my life reflect the kind of holiness that God is calling me into?

At the end of my Jewish journey, while I was essentially unaffiliated and feeling totally disconnected, I did consider that perhaps I had entered a phase of being "everything and nothing;" a mish-mosh of Christian and Jewish; able to morph myself into any situation - the ultimate expression of ecumenism and political correctness - but this was short lived, as I knew in my heart that what I needed was to call myself something and to stand for it proudly. I hated being nothing; the world is filled with empty, aimless people, and I was not going to be one of them.

The interesting thing is, I am now realizing that my Jewish background - knowing Hebrew, and having been trained in the cantorial arts - has deepened and enriched my Christianity, for which I am increasingly grateful. The other thing I have discovered - after attending a friend's mother's shiva minyan recently, where I was pleased to find that I have not forgotten my Hebrew and am still able to daven a maariv service - is that while, as a Jew, I was not free to worship in a church, as a Christian - even as a Catholic Christian - there is no conflict with praying in a synagogue (at least to my knowledge). After all, praying in a synagogue is to pray to the same God of Israel we pray to in church, and to whom Jesus refers in all of his teachings. So there's an odd "door-opens-in-only-one-direction" dynamic here (I have also been surprised to find that much of the Mass is very Jewish. It turns out, I didn't need to convert after all to explore the Jewish roots of the Church - it's always all been there.)

Okay, enough for today.

Dear Lord, you have kept me safe throughout my journey, you've led me to places I've never heard of, you parted the seas and led me to freedom, kept me safe in the desert, and brought me home - to you and to myself. Help me to be holy as you are holy.



Our Lady Star of the Sea, Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts.

March 9 - Lent, Day 25 - True Liberation

What does true liberation mean to me? Am I willing to allow God to exercise "tough love" in order to accomplish this in my life?

Not to sound glib, or trite - and this probably is not quite in the context of today's reflection, where Dr. Hahn writes about the Israelites' wanderings in the wilderness, and their murmurings and complaints, and how God our Father heard their cries and provided for their every need - but I would feel truly liberated if I could get into an airplane and fly to New Mexico to visit my daughter, or fly to Ireland and spend the summer playing in pubs and photographing Ireland's landscape and people.

So, what about tough love? I certainly don't have everything I want in life - I can think of a few big things I missed out on (Hey, how about throwing a daddy my way, Lord? What am I, chopped liver?) - but I can honestly (almost always) see how so much of not having everything I thought I wanted has helped to strengthen me and shape me into a better person. And thank God I didn't get some of the things (and people) I thought I wanted along the way.

Dear God, help me to be more patient, to not react too quickly if things aren't going the way I expect; help me to let go of the reins a little and realize that you are in control and only want what's best for me; help me to complain less, and to realize that every moment is perfect, even if it doesn't appear to be so at the time.

March 8 - Lent, Day 24 - An Unlikely Hero

That's me, painting the living room of the Main Street house, one of four rooms I had to complete within a six-week period in the spring of 2012 in preparation for moving my furniture and belongings from Brookline.

Has there been a time when I wished God would pick someone other than me to do some act of service? How does this relate to my journey through Lent? (In relation to God's having chosen Moses to go to Pharoah to ask him to free the Hebrews, and Moses responds, No way, Jose.)

My mother has been gone twenty-one years; my brother, thirteen years; my husband, eight years. Many times I have wondered why it is that I have been left to manage every detail of my family - past, present, and future - by myself. Everything, from parenting and (now) grandparenting to maintaining two houses, including a 200 year-old house (my childhood home), as well as my children's childhood home. And when I say maintain, I mean with my own hands: painting, repairing, furnishing, cleaning, yard work, rental turn-overs - the whole ball of wax; I do everything except climb on the roof, tear down chimneys, and repair furnaces. "Why, oh why," I have asked many times over the years, "has everyone gone and abandoned me and left me to take care of everything by myself? Why am I the only one who is not dead? Why am I the one who is left with the responsibility of figuring everything out on my own? Help!"

It's not that I don't want the job (okay, occasionally I feel overwhelmed and wish I could bail out, but not too often) - and luckily, I know how to do lots of things with my hands - I just can't figure out, from an existential point of view, why everything has been left for me to do; why am I even alive when everyone else in my family is dead?

As my children become more settled in their lives, I do foresee a time when more responsibilities will be delegated to them - it's hard to believe, but there may come a time when I'll unable to climb up on scaffolding to clean and repair gutters, ha ha - but for now, it's me, and there's stuff to get done, so I do it. And truth be told, I consider it a joy and an honor to be caring, lovingly, for my grandparents' old home, as well as for the house in which I raised my children, the house of many happy memories in which one of my children was even born.

God, please grant me the strength, courage, and wisdom, to do all that I have been asked to do.

March 7 - Lent, Day 23 - God's Plan for Moses

Self-portrait, November 2011.

Who in my life might be placed there to free me from myself? And what role do you have for me to play in the lives of others? (in reference to God's having used Moses to free Israel from slavery)

I believe that God places people in our lives for a purpose; I also believe that we find the people we need to teach us things about ourselves. Ultimately, I have come to believe that the people in our lives serve as mirrors - whatever we see in them is often true of ourselves; whatever we think they are thinking about us is usually a reflection of the way we feel about ourselves. I have come to realize that if I am focused on my own life, on my own creativity and God-given gifts and purpose, that others are less able to affect me or bring me down. As for who might be placed in my life to free me from myself - I have come to depend on very few people, realizing that I know best what I need in order to manage my life. But on a couple of different levels - from the practical: an accountant and a lawyer to help me sort out my estate planning - to the personal: colleagues with whom I disagree on some matters, and by whom I don't feel understood, which forces me to go to a higher level of patience - yes, there have been (and are) many people and situations in my life who have helped free me from myself - often somewhat reluctantly. I'm thinking about my most recent synagogue job that ended - via e-mail, the day before Passover last year. Aggravating and disappointing, to be sure - but on another level, I remember thinking (and even saying out loud), "Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, I'm free at last." And indeed - this was the catalyst that brought about my move back to the island and my return to the Church. And a relationship that was important to me - a very unhealthy relationship in which I acted out my neediest self - that when ended, freed me from ever needing to be in a relationship ever again, allowing me to be my most independent and creative self. I could go on...

As for my role in bringing freedom to others: specifically, at the moment, I'm in the process of ensuring that my family has the most number of options available to them in the future. As a mother, I have had to give my children a lot of freedom from me - at times more than I'm comfortable with and not knowing if I would ever see them again - also, as an involved and present grandmother, I have to weigh, on a daily basis, when to keep my mouth shut and when to interfere, as well as constantly deciding how much freedom to give three active toddlers. As the caretaker (for the past 23 years)of an adult woman with disabilities, I am responsible for giving her both freedom and support - a delicate balancing act on most days.

Dear God, please free me from everything that keeps me from being the fullest expression of all you made me to be, as well as whatever keeps me from you, including fear, criticism of self and others, negative thinking, envy, and anxiety.

March 6 - Lent, Day 22 - God Uses Adversity

I've always loved the story of Joseph; how, in a fit of jealousy, his brothers threw him into a hole and left him for dead, which ultimately led to his being taken to Egypt, sold into slavery, which ultimately - by way of a long and complicated journey - resulted in salvation for the entire Hebrew people. I just love this story, and I think of it often when times are tough. This story is a metaphor in so many ways (think: a bulb that emerges after spending the winter underground and blooms into a magnificent daffodil; or a baby that emerges from the dark womb), and most certainly is a foreshadowing of Christ's death, descent into hell, and rising again to save all of humankind. I have many examples in my life where God has used adversity to my advantage and ultimate victory. St. Paul famously said, "And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them." (Romans 8:28) And I think it was the Dalai Lama who said, "Sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of good luck." I have experienced - many times over - and absolutely believe it to be true that God uses adversity to our advantage.

Dr. Hahn's questions for today: What opposition am I facing? Am I trusting God's promises or living with unhappiness and worry?


My family has been in a state of brokenness and chaos for several years now - a maelstrom of legal and relationship issues - and I am now seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I have told my kids more than once: just watch - everything will turn out just right in the end, and you will be able to look back on the situation and say, "I'm so glad it didn't work out the way I wanted it to five years ago." Which doesn't mean I haven't had a few sleepless nights along the way - but yes, for the most part I do trust that God is in charge and that all will work out for the best; partly because of my age. At 62, I've got some experience under my belt to back up my beliefs.

Dear God, help me to trust you, even when I'm in the dark hole of despair.



Detail of the prayer shawl (tallit) I wove for myself for the occasion of my Bat Mitzvah ceremony in 2002, which reminds me of Joseph's multi-colored coat.

March 5 - Lent, Day 21 - Forgiveness Reunites

March 4 - Lent, Day 20 - No Obstacles for God

March 3 - Lent, Day 19 - God's Power, Not Ours

March 2 - Lent, Day 18 - God Will Provide

What extreme measures is God calling me to take to weed out any unfaithfulness in my own life?

I've been walking the line of faith for years. Every minute of my life is an act of faith. Raising my children on my own with no money was an act of faith. Leaving the Catholic Church and everything familiar to become a Jewish cantor was an act of faith. Returning to the Catholic Church was an act of faith, especially since there was no guarantee that I would ever sing a note of liturgical music again in my life, when it seemed that I had flushed eight years of very hard work down the toilet - that was perhaps one of the biggest tests I've ever endured in my religious journey. Investing blood, sweat, and tears into my grandparents' house, my childhood and present home, with the idea that I can create a viable space from which to make a living with music and photography for the rest of my life as well as a gathering center for friends and family, along with creating something to pass down to my children and their children - it's all an act of faith. And if God doesn't know I'm faithful after giving up beer for six weeks, well, I guess there'll be no convincing the Guy.

Dear God, help me to remember that you have always provided everything I need and to trust that you always will.

March 1 - Lent, Day 17 - Laugh at the Impossible

In reference to Abraham's and Sarah's reaction to the news that they, in their old age, would have a son (they both laughed), and the way that God can do the impossible, Dr. Hahn asks: What impossible situation am I facing right now? How can I face it with joy, and even laughter?

I have faced many seemingly impossible situations in my life, but few as difficult as has been the situation within my family over the past 5-8 years; an un-gluing of sorts, with my three grown children each going in his or her own direction; at various times not speaking to me, or to each other - fallout from their father's death eight years ago for the most part, I believe. However, in the past few months I have seen miraculous changes taking place - and I do mean miraculous, as only God - in response to my fervent prayers - could change a situation that I thought was truly hopeless and that had brought me more grief than I thought could ever be possible as a mother. There is still more change that needs to take place, but having seen the miracles unfold so far, and knowing that God is in charge and can do anything, I believe that my family will be renewed and restored to greatness. And yes, I am able to laugh at times: "Who's talking to Mom today, that's the question - it's like a kaleidoscope. You rotate it and all of the elements change position and give you a new picture. This is why you have to have at least three kids, so on any given day at least one of them is speaking to you."

Here's a song I wrote a few years ago about Sarah's laughter, called Dancing in the Light of Your Smile. This song came into being because I needed a song about Sarah (the other Sarah) to sing with children. This is a song about longings fulfilled, about birth and re-birth; a song of joy; the idea that Sarah’s laughter reverberates through the generations, that we continue the fulfillment — realized in the birth of Isaac — of Sarah’s longings, the “stars in her eyes,” which is also an allusion to Abraham’s conversation with God in which God promises that Abraham and Sarah’s descendants “will out-number the stars in the sky.”

The photograph was taken at a dance performance at The Yard dance studio in Chilmark, Massachusetts in 2001 while on assignment for the Martha's Vineyard Times.



Dear God, please give me the ability to step out of my situation - any situation - and laugh.